


To bring you my love

by ninhursag



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bad Sex, Drunk Sex, Fist Fights, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Michael makes Alex prove he's not going to look away this time. By rubbing his face in every bad decision and making him watch him fuck and fight and hurt himself with every tool at his disposal.For the HC bingo square asking for help. (No words are used in the asking)





	To bring you my love

**Author's Note:**

> Contains lots of meaningless sex as a form of self harm, drunken lashing out and boys who love each other being absolute idiots about it.

There's something soothing about the regularity of it. Clockwork and on time. Guerin goes drinking. Guerin gets smashed, all smirking face and cowboy hat, the stink of booze in his breath and his skin, his hair. 

Alex watches and pretends he isn't and doesn't and won't.

Watches him stumble and laugh and wink. Sucker a tourist at pool. Charm a woman so beautiful even Alex can see it, like a piece of art that's not his taste but perfect anyway.

Get into a fist fight with some racist that thinks he can take a shambling drunk but doesn't have the sack to face up to a sober man.

Guerin took it all, every night, laughing like he meant it, until he's poured out like the contents of a broken bottle, all over the floor. Fucked up, fucked out, beaten.

Then he laughed and did it again.

And Alex waited and waited, until he was semiconscious, pliant and still, black eyes and sex stench and all.

"Well this is pathetic, private," Guerin said then, if it was a day he could talk at all, and sneered. "Is this what you're into these days?" Gesturing at himself, like he's the joke.

Alex drags him up by the armpits and takes him home, over and over. It's exhausting as hell, the prosthetic leg wearing at him, but usually once Guerin's feet are under him, he mostly cooperates.

He'd dragged bigger men through worse, with fuckers actually shooting at them, this is nothing. It doesn't make him cry. Only sometimes, but it's allergies.

"Why are you doing this?" Guerin asked sometimes, the first time he didn't drop off to sleep the moment he was in his own bed. Bruised hazel eyes looked up at Alex from under matted curls. "What's the end game?"

And Alex laughed, "haven't we already had this conversation?"

Guerin's eyes rolled. "Right, you're just a good guy who's gonna be nice to every piece of shit that you step on."

"You're not- you're not. Don't." Alex seethed and Guerin laughed at him.

And there's something there, golden and hazy, broken glass and cuts from beer bottles. Michael Guerin's eyes. "You're easy sweetheart, but not too deep down you know I am. Haven't I proven it to you by now?"

"Shut up," he said. "There's no end game, Guerin, there never has been."

The times when he was too incoherent to speak, it was easier. 

He put Guerin to bed, tucked the covers around his body. Feeling the heat of his skin, alien warm. Alex's alien lover. Ex lover.

Lois Lane never had it so fucked up.

He left a bottle of acetone and another of water on the nightstand and walked away.

"Please," he said, one time, when he couldn't just walk away anymore. "Stop doing this to yourself."

And Guerin smiled, blood on his teeth, red blood, like he was a real boy, and made a kissy face at Alex. Bitter as hell. "Make me," he says. "Sweetheart."

Other people kiss that mouth, red and purple and plush. That's supposed to be his, would have been his to kiss-- if he had kept the faith. 

He didn't kiss now, he hasn't been invited, not really, but he did… he pressed his fingers to those lips, once, gentle as he could. "I'm trying. I'm not looking away."

And Guerin rolled his eyes and whispered, "but you hate what you see, Alex."

And Alex shrugged. "Only because you do. Sweetheart."

And then one time, when Guerin had managed to stink of sex and blood at the same time, strong enough to turn Alex's stomach, when he leaned up on his elbow, a mess poured over filthy sheets and batted his fucking eyelashes.

He licked his lips and he smiled, like an invitation. But when he spoke, he said, "what happens when you wear me down and I say yes to you, Alex? You walk away?"

Alex closed his eyes, his fists, his knees before they knocked together. "I told you I was done walking away. You're just enough of a dick to fuck yourself in order to make me prove it."

And Guerin laughed at him or himself. "You got an awfully high opinion of my motives. You're not going to kiss my mouth when you know exactly where it's been."

A jackhole hillbilly type is where it had been. It was usually women with Guerin, nice and easy, but tonight it had been a guy, who wanted to get his dick wet and then punish the person who'd done it for him.

Alex caught the tail end of it in the alley way. Kept it from escalating more than it had. Let the fucker go when every instinct was to bash him into the pavement.

"You don't decide who I kiss," Alex spat.

Guerin laughed until he coughed. Alex kissed him when he stopped, when his breathing steadied. When he looked--stared-- those surprised eyes-- red rimmed and hazel gold.

Alex kissed him hard and careful. He tasted like a sewer, someone else's come and the acid of barely swallowed vomit. It didn't matter. It didn't. Alex's hands tightened on his hair and he held on as carefully as he was allowed.

Gue--Michael kissed him back, desperate warmth. A hand on the back of Alex's neck, so gentle and slow, shaking.

His forehead was pressed against Michael's when the kiss broke. Those hands burning like too bright sun on the bare skin of Alex's neck.

"Next time you choose an asshole, he's not walking away, Guerin," Alex whispered. "Just because I'm a cripple now doesn't mean I can't kick the shit out of someone that deserves it."

And Guerin smiled, sweet and vicious. "Sure, if it makes you happy, airman."

It doesn't. But Alex enjoys it anyway the next time when it inevitably happens, feeling his fist crunch into flesh. It's satisfying in the way nothing has been since Iraq.

Better, because Michael Guerin is right there. Leaning against his truck in this dirty parking lot, watching Alex from under hooded, satisfied eyes. Watching him beat up the dick he'd have probably been sucking off if Alex hadn't intervened.

"Guess you won," Guerin mocked when Alex backed off the guy and strode over to him. His legs were parted just so, slutty and inviting, a space where Alex could slide right in. "Does that mean you wanna go instead?"

Alex smiled, honey slow. "Is that how you want it? Me to put you in your knees and take you for a ride in a parking lot? Treat you like everyone else does. That what you've been working us up to?"

Guerin swallowed and shrugged a little. "Maybe," he said. And there was something dark and blank under the gold of his eyes. Maybe just the shitty streetlights.

"Liar," Alex whispered, right up against him. Mouth close as he could get without kissing. "I don't look away, sweetheart." 

Guerin made a face, a familiar sour one, but the darkness was a little further away and there was something careful and bright just beginning to spark. "So if you're so smart, if you're watching so close, you tell me what I want?"

There were so many things Alex could say. Scare me off, make me prove I don't scare off, sicken me, prove you can't trust me and I can't trust you. "You want me to put you to bed, tuck you in and take you to breakfast in the morning."

Guerin blinked, eyes darting and then focusing again. "Where'd you get that out of all this?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Are you saying I'm wrong?" 

Michael sucked in his lower lip and didn't answer for a long moment. "If you give me this and then take it back again-- I won't come back from it. I'll have to… fuck. Leave the planet, man."

Alex didn't think he'd ever come back to begin with. Broken body, broken heart, monsters in his head. The boy who'd gone to war ten years ago would be horrified.

He shook his head. "Forget it. I'll go with you if you're going." That he would have done, that boy that was. Then. Now. Always.

He took Michael home, to his house this time, not Michael's trailer. Made him drink water, tucked him in. Kissed him, gently, carefully, like he was something very precious.

"Let me do right by you. Please."

"You're crazy, airman," Michael told him and closed his eyes. He was smiling faintly.

"Not news, cowboy." Alex kissed him again, this time carefully, on the forehead. And for the first time in a long time everything felt possible.

In the morning, there was gonna be breakfast if it killed both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I love and appreciate feedback of all sorts! <3
> 
> You can also find me as ninhursag at dreamwidth https://ninhursag.dreamwidth.org/


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